REDRUM

THE SCENE:   FRAMINGHAM, MASSACHUSETTS, USA




THE PLAYERS:   MUM, DAD, AND ME

THE FORECAST: BLIZZARD WARNING, STATE OF EMERGENCY DECLARED IN MASSACHUSETTS, 8 TO 16 INCHES OF SNOW, POTENTIALLY DAMAGING WINDS, CONSIDERABLE BLOWING AND DRIFTING OF SNOW

WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

PRAISE, I THINK

"Mike's the kind of guy you WANT to fuck your mom." - My manager, 4 days after I got a raise.

Mother Lover (Uncensored) - watch more funny videos

THE ANTISOCIAL NETWORK

The photo above was taken on a night on the town back in early 2009 in Perth, Western Australia. I’m the douchebag in the stupid “Drunk Chicks Think I’m Hot” t-shirt (truth be told, that shirt was a great icebreaker at the pubs). The young lady in the photo? We’ll call her Julie (not her real name). Julie was a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend. If memory serves we shared a few drinks, danced a bit, mugged for the camera, and parted ways. My friend Anthony (pictured on the right, whilst texting) tagged me in this photo on his Facebook page. I promptly de-tagged myself from the photo, but have now resurrected it to make a point – the world needs to see FEWER photos of me like this, not more. In all likelihood, I will never see Julie again since she lives on the other side of the planet. I wish her well. However, I don’t need for all of my Facebook “friends,” including co-workers, 12 year-old cousins, and Mom, to see unflattering images of my fleeting shenanigans from a long time ago, in a country far, far away. For that reason, and more, I am quitting Facebook.

I know what you’re gonna say – Mike, why don’t you just adjust your privacy settings?

Here’s why - There are 173 photos and 4 videos in which I am currently tagged, and I never uploaded a single one of them. They are how the world sees me, for better or worse. I don’t have the damned patience to go through each one of my 335 “friends” and decide who is worthy or unworthy of seeing this photo or that video. That an image can be tagged and put on semi-public display without a tag-ee’s prior full consent has always been my main quibble with Facebook.

Another gripe (although it’s not really Facebook’s fault) – Some people put interesting links and intelligent comments in their status updates… and some others don’t. Actually some others put up unbelievably mundane crap about their lives about which absolutely no one needs to know. No, I don’t care if the baby wouldn’t let you sleep! No, I don’t care how many calories you burned in your aerobics class! No, I don’t care about your hangover! And no one else cares either! Just because something is up on a computer screen doesn’t make it amusing or important! Get back to work and shut the fuck up!

Phew! Okay… calming down.

Speaking of work, Facebook became a major sucker of time and productivity for me when I was unemployed. Many days when I could have been aggressively job hunting, writing, or educating myself, instead I was nostalgically (read: voyeuristically) looking in at other people’s more interesting lives rather than improving my own. It was my own damn fault for getting sucked in, but how many millions of others are doing the same thing? No wonder the economy’s in the crapper.

A big question… If I stayed on Facebook, what would happen to my page after I died? Someday all 500,000,000 of today’s Facebook users will be dead. Will our descendants care that we “liked” Waffle House or thought that the Patriots played a shitty game one day back in 2010? When he’s having a quiet day in the Oval Office On The Moon, will Michael Moran III check out old photos of his namesake and Julie and wonder - if things worked out a little differently, could that Australian chick have been my Grandma? I dunno. It’s all a bit creepy. (I didn’t mean you, Julie. I meant the concept of a digital pseudo-autobiography that lives forever in cyberspace was creepy… not you. You're just fine).

Oh, but Facebook has its good points, too. If it had never existed, Betty White might never have hosted SNL, and I might never have gotten to work for (cue shameless namedropping) David Fincher. One year ago, I was working as a production assistant on the “The Social Network.” The movie turned out great and I am proud to have worked on it (although it is difficult to prove that I actually did work on it, as my name isn’t in the credits). So, thanks for that, Facebook. Also thanks for re-connecting me with one of my best childhood friends and for vindicating my theory that the girl I had a crush on in 3^rd grade would grow up to be a stunner. But in the end, the bad stuff outweighed the good for me and I’m pulling the plug.

Among many great lines in “The Social Network,” one that stands out is “The Internet isn’t written in pencil; it’s written in ink.” If so, I’d like more control over the pen. So, I’m regressing back to a time when if there were embarrassing photos of me floating around, I was blissfully unaware of their existence, as were my family, friends and casual acquaintances – a time when it took a bit more than sharing a beer at that party that one time to qualify as my friend – a time when people didn’t feel the need to inform everyone they know that the baby just farted. Ahhhh.... 2005! It's good to be back!

So folks, if you have something to share with me, do it as nature intended… with a letter, phone call, email, text message, or - ahem - blog comment. And please, for the love of Gawd, “follow” my blog. I still crave some attention!


AN AMENDMENT (11/01/2010): In case I offended any parents of babies on here, let me clarify my point of view. Maybe "shut the fuck up" was a little harsh. I have absolutely no problem with parents taking cute photos and videos of their children and showing them off to close friends and family on Facebook. Nor do I mind it when people write things like "Junior said his first word today! It was 'platypus!'" in their status updates. That stuff is fine and good. I love kids, especially my adorable niece and nephew and I cherish every photo that their parents send me. Its when parents (particularly new parents), write down every single detail of their progeny's development, no matter how trivial, (ie "the baby cried all night, the baby won't eat peas, the baby has diarrhea") and broadcast it throughout the world that I get annoyed. Someday, those kids are going to grow up, and not all of them are going to like the fact that their childhoods were on display, especially if their parents were complaining about how irritating they were or are. I am not yet a father, so I cannot speak to the joys and frustrations of parenthood. Facebook allows parents to share those joys and vent those frustrations. I just wonder who's really listening, and who might get hurt. 

THE CURIOUS CASE OF MATT DAMON

Damon in "Hereafter"

Matt Damon kicks ass. As a fellow Masshole Libra who likes good movies, he inspires. 

I haven’t seen “Hereafter” yet. It looks pretty good. Rumor has it that Damon’s character is able to commune with the dead. Judging from the movie’s poster, he must also be capable of time travel, specifically to 1992 where he stole his headshot from the set of "School Ties," returned to 2010 and gave the photo to the Warner Bros. marketing department.

Damon on the poster for "Hereafter"

Damon's only 40. He's youthful, but he's not that youthful. The movie was directed by Clint Eastwood, a man who has proved time and time again that bad-assery knows no age limit. Why does Damon have to look like an undergrad to sell this flick?

Just sayin…

"I'm 80 years old and I'll kick your fucking ass, you little pissant!"

ROBZ N THE HOOD: A QUICK REVIEW

This movie should have been titled "Nottingham Origins: Robin Hood." That's not a compliment. What we got here is a grim war movie that serves as prelude to Robin Hood's heyday in Sherwood Forest. Problem is, I don't much care how Robin Hood became Robin Hood. I'd rather he just got down to business. Russell Crowe is already pushing 50 and looks it. If this is a setup for a Robin Hood franchise starring Crowe, we're in trouble and so are his knees. As with any Ridley Scott flick, it looks great, can be gripping at times, but isn't exactly fun. Cate Blanchett does what she can to liven things up, as does Oscar Isaac as Prince John The Swarthy, and if the whole movie were anywhere near as cool as the animated end title sequence, we might have had something here. But is isn't, and we don't.

So there.

ROBZ N THE HOOD

Someday, I will make The Ultimate Robin Hood Movie, or at least, My Version of the Ultimate Robin Hood Movie. I am hardly unique in the desire to bring this medieval tale to the big screen. Moviemakers have been visiting and revisiting Sherwood Forest since the silent era, and with good reason. Everyone likes Robin Hood. He’s a dashing, charming rogue with mad archery skillz who robs the rich, feeds the poor, and gets the girl. What’s not to like?

As with all timeless tales, each generation gets the Robin Hood they deserve. The story works fine on its own, allowing filmmakers to highlight the concerns, styles and trends of their own particular eras.

In 2010, we are about to get Ridley Scott’s version. Judging from the trailer, it looks epic, humorless and violent, with curiously mature actors filling out the leads. With all due respect to Russell Crowe and Cate Blanchett, I have always envisioned Robin Hood and Maid Marian as passionate young lovers rather than 40-something Oscar-winners. Sir Ridley continues the ironic tradition of casting a non-Englishman as that most English of heroes (weird, isn’t it). I have my concerns (a shiny-armored Maid Marian riding into battle?). But hey, it’s still a Robin Hood movie, so I’ll be sure to check it out. But before I go, I felt that I should look back on some earlier cinematic versions of the Robin Hood tlegend, and see what they could tell me about their time periods.

The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938) Directed by Michael Curtiz and William Keighley

Ever seen a Bollywood movie? For the uninitiated, Bollywood is India’s film industry, the world’s most prolific, which produces hundreds of movies each year. Typical Bollywood productions are fanciful extravaganzas filled with music, chaste romance and bloodless adventure made to appeal to vast swaths of humanity, including millions living in wretched poverty. With its dazzling colors and innocent romanticism, The Adventures of Robin Hood could comfortably share a double bill with the latest offering from Bombay.

If you want evidence as to why the Hollywood (with an “H”) studio system peaked during the Great Depression, this movie could serve as Exhibit A. It is relentlessly cheerful, optimistic and colorful in ways that are laughable for a modern American audience, but it must have picked up the spirits of the impoverished back in the day. With athletic swagger and wise-ass quips, Errol Flynn bounces through every scene like a gazelle (albeit a bright green Bedazzled™ gazelle). His band of Merry Men aren’t so much a forest-dwelling guerilla squad as a bunch of good-humored drinking buddies who swing on vines in goofy outfits whilst redistributing wealth to the masses. What downtrodden Hooverville resident (or Slumdog) wouldn’t want to join these scamps in their quest to stick it to The Man? Olivia de Havilland is every inch the damsel in distress, and her own goofy outfits range in style from Sparkly Habit to Sequined Swiss Miss. “England” never looked as sunny as it does in this movie. It all seems rather cartoonish today, but America needed a cartoon back then, just like India does now.

And speaking of cartoons…

Robin Hood (1973) Directed by Wolfgang Reitherman

Walt Disney died in 1966, and with him went the lush, vivid, and expensive animation style that made his studio famous. Lots of animation buffs see the years following Uncle Walt’s demise as a lackluster time for the studio. I respectfully disagree with them. Sure, movies like The Aristocats, The Rescuers and The Fox and the Hound may not have the same dazzling production values of the Disney “classics” of old, but they also lack those films’ pretentiousness. The Disney movies of the 1970s have a shaggy charm about them. Rather than grandly executed fairy tales, they are modest bedtime stories more likely to give you a good chuckle than to inspire awe. And Robin Hood is the best of the bunch.

Ooh De Lally, would I like to know what they were smoking during the Robin Hood brainstorming sessions (it was the early 70s, after all)! I imagine the pitch going like this: “Okay, so we’re gonna do Robin Hood, but with animals instead of people. And it’s gonna be a Western. And there’s gonna be a hoedown in Sherwood Forest. And drag humor. And boob jokes.” And that’s exactly what they did. The choice to make each character an animal underlines their personalities in a playful and effective way (Robin Hood is a sly fox, Little John is a big-hearted bear, Richard the Lionhearted is, uh, a lion). The dialogue is hilarious, particularly the banter between Peter Ustinov’s Prince John and Terry-Thomas’ Sir Hiss (name me another Disney flick with memorable comic repartee, besides Aladdin), and the songs are terrific. The whole movie feels like it was made by a bunch of good-humored hippies who had just watched M*A*S*H. And that’s a good thing.

Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991) Directed (more or less) by Kevin Reynolds

I know it’s hard to believe, kids, but twenty years ago Kevin Costner was the hottest star in Hollywood. He was on a massive winning streak – The Untouchables, Bull Durham, Field of Dreams, and his personal best Dances With Wolves all came out in the space of four years. He was the All-American Movie Star with two Oscars to boot. So when the chance to star as Robin Hood came along, he wasn’t going to let his limited acting range and unmistakably Californian accent stand in his way (to be fair, Errol Flynn wasn’t the greatest of actors either). Thus, the world was given Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. I loved this movie when I was twelve. Back then, I didn’t much care that Old Kev-bo sounded more like a surfer than a Saxon nobleman. The action was good, the settings were appropriately gritty, and Alan Rickman made a hilarious and kick-ass Sheriff of Nottingham.

Now that I am old and jaded, however, the film’s flaws are easier to spot. It was a notoriously rushed and difficult production, and it shows. Tonally, the movie is all over the place and its oh-so-1990s stabs at political correctness come across as half-assed. Morgan Freeman’s exotic and educated Moor helpfully introduces the Merry Men to the wonders of telescopes and gunpowder, yet has no wants or ambitions of his own other than protecting the hero’s life. Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio’s Maid Marian is introduced as a masked warrior who nearly cuts Robin to pieces, and is then stuck as a vulnerable damsel for the rest of the movie. Worst of all, when the Sheriff attempts to rape her (!), it seems to be played for laughs. Yuck!

And then there is Kev-bo’s monstrous ego that radiates through every frame. Rumor has it that he and the producers took over the editing of the film, and man, does this movie love Kevin Fucking Costner! When he gives what is supposed to be a rousing speech calling the Marry Men to action, he comes off more like a schoolyard bully bending the weaker kids to his will than a charismatic leader of men. And that damn waterfall scene! Maid Marian stumbles upon a nude Robin taking a dip and gazes longingly at his manly physique (well, partially his physique – a stunt butt was employed). Even in his heyday, I don’t recall Kev-bo being known for his sexy bod. Hell, that very summer a couple of doors down in the multiplex, Brad Pitt was putting all mankind’s bodies to shame in Thelma & Louise, so that lingering gaze on Marian’s face is just a bit much. Get over yourself, Kev.

Such was the way of the world in 1991. How quickly the times change.

So, on Friday I will be off to see Ridley & Russell’s take on the Sherwood Bandit. Of course, it will never be as good as My Version of the Ultimate Robin Hood Movie, but it could be pretty awesome, nonetheless. I am always willing to give Robin Hood the benefit of the doubt, and I’ll be there. With tights on.

LAZY BLOGGING PART IV, WITH JAMES LIPTON

I promise to do some real writing soon. Until then, here's something to make you giggle.